CHAPTER XXXVI.

TEA AT CRAWFORD'S HOUSE.

When Philip Ray left Boland's Ait he crossed over to the tow-path, and not to Crawford's Quay. It was still too early to call at Layard's. There was nothing else for it but to kill time walking about. Under ordinary circumstances when greatly excited he went for a very long walk. If nothing else but the startling and confounding affairs at Boland's Ait had to be considered, he would have dashed off at the top of his speed and kept on straight until he had calmed himself or worn himself out. But there was Crawford's House to be thought of. That must not be left far behind. Even now when he intended circling it he could not bear to think he was turning his face away from it, although he knew it was necessary to make a radius before he could begin his circle.

His mind was in a whirl, and he could see nothing clearly. The astounding return of his sister from the grave, and the still more astounding pardon extended to her by her husband, threw all his ideas into phantasmagoric confusion. Images leaped and bounded through his brain, and would not wait to be examined. Of only one thing was he certain: that Frank was the noblest man he had ever met. Although he repeated over and over to himself Bramwell's words about Kate, although over and over again he called up the vision of Kate in that room on the islet, he could not convince his reason that forgiveness had been extended to her. In his memory he saw the figures and heard the voices, and understood the words spoken, but a dozen times he asked himself, could it be true? or had his imagination played him false?

The affairs at the Ait dwarfed his own concerns, and made them seem tame and commonplace. That a young man should fall desperately in love with a beautiful girl like Hetty was the most natural thing in the world; but that a hermit, a young man of scrupulous honour like Frank, should take back an errant wife, whose former beauty had now turned almost to repulsiveness, transcended belief. It was true, but it was incredible.

As time went on, and the walking allayed the tumult in his mind, his thoughts came to his own position in the circumstances. He had not told Layard or Hetty any of Frank's history beyond the fact that it was a painful one, and a subject to be avoided. He had not told them that he was Bramwell's brother-in-law. He had never said a word about Bramwell's wife.

Now all would have to be explained. Of course, he had intended telling when he spoke to Layard about Hetty; things had changed beyond anticipation, beyond belief, since last night. Had he known what was going to happen on the Ait last night, what had absolutely happened when Hetty and he landed there, he would not have said a word of love to the girl. He would have told her the facts about Kate before asking Hetty to marry Kate's brother, before asking Hetty to become the sister of this miserable woman.

He knew he was in no way responsible for his sister's sins, but some people considered a whole family tainted by such an act in one of its members. Some people believed conduct of this kind was a matter of heredity, and ran in the blood. Some people would ask, If the sister did this, what could you expect from the brother?

Would the painful tale he had to tell Layard influence Hetty's brother against his suit? There were thousands of people who would consider that he himself was smirched by his sister's fault. Was Layard one of these?

The best thing for him to do was to relate the story at once; the most honourable and straightforward way for him to proceed would be to speak to Layard before he again saw Hetty. If Layard raised an objection, and that objection was insuperable, the most honourable course for him to pursue would be to give up all pretensions to Hetty.

Yes, but could he? And would he be justified in renouncing her now that he knew she loved him? It would be all very well if he had not made love to her and gone so far as to ask her to marry him. If only his happiness were concerned the path of duty would be plain enough. But Hetty and he were now partners in love, and had he the power or the right to dissolve the partnership without consulting her? Clearly not. However he looked at the situation doubts and difficulties arose before his mind. There was only one matter clear--he ought to speak to Layard at once.

It was now half-past seven. Layard left the gasworks at eight. Why should he not intercept him on his way home and put him in possession of all the facts? Upon what Layard said, the course to be adopted could be based.

He got to the gas-house, and was walking up and down impatiently when Alfred Layard came out of the gateway and saw him.

"Anything the matter?" asked Layard apprehensively when Ray came up to him.

"At your place? O, no! I wanted a few minutes' talk with you, so I came to meet you."

"All right," said Layard, with a smile. He thought he could guess what the talk would prove to be about. He was the incarnation of unselfishness, and it never occurred to him for a moment to consider how awkward it would be for him if Hetty married and left him.

"I want first of all to tell you a very painful piece of family history," said Ray, anxious to get the worst over as soon as possible.

"But why should you, Ray? I am the least curious man alive."

"You will know why I wish to tell you before I have finished."

Then, without further preface, he narrated the history of Kate, her marriage, her flight, her supposed death, her appearance last night at the Ait, and her husband's forgiveness.

Layard was greatly interested and excited by the story. When it was finished, he said:

"There is enough Christianity in that man Bramwell to make a bishop."

"To make the whole bench of bishops," cried Ray enthusiastically. "I always knew he was a hero, but I was not prepared to find the spirit of a martyr as well. And yet I ought to have been prepared for anything noble and disinterested in him. He does what he believes to be right without any view to reward here or hereafter. He has had his wild days when he plunged, under his great trouble, into the excitement of gambling, but even in that he was unselfish; he injured no one but himself. Once he pulled up, he stopped for good and all. And now I come to the reason for taking you into confidence and telling you what you need never have known only for something which concerns myself more deeply than all else which has happened to me in my life."

Then in a few words he explained his position, his feelings towards Hetty, and his belief that his feelings were reciprocated.

"You have three matters to weigh," he said, in conclusion; "first, the family history I have told you; then my financial position, taking into account the chance of my getting the tuitions; and, last, whether you would object to me personally. In the short time I have known you, I have taken to you more than to any other man I ever met except Frank. I am speaking to you as much as a friend as Hetty's brother. If I did not look on you as a friend, I should not care greatly to take you into my confidence and defer to you. But the notion of doing anything underhand or behind your back would seem to me intolerable treason."

"I'll be as straightforward with you as you have been with me. I have liked you from the first moment of our short acquaintance. The way in which you have spoken to me this evening strengthens ten thousand times my good opinion of you. The miserable family history you have told me has no bearing whatever on you, and I see nothing to stop you but the getting of those tuitions. Why, I married on little more than your salary; and during my short married life I never for one moment repented, nor did my poor girl. Contented and willing hearts are the riches of marriage, not money."

Ray was too much moved to say more than "Thank you, Layard;" but he stopped in his walk, and, with tears in his eyes, wrung the hands of the other man.

"And now," said Layard, as they resumed their way, "let us get home to tea."

That was his way of telling Ray that there was no need of further words either in explanation or of thanks.

"I thought we were going to have a thunderstorm last night, and to-night it looks like it too. I always feel a coming storm in the muscles of my arms, and they are tingling this evening."

Layard opened the door with his latch-key. The two men went into the front room, and in a few minutes Hetty appeared with the tea-pot. She coloured deeply on seeing Ray with her brother. She had not heard the footfalls of two people, and was not prepared to find him there. He had never before come in with Alfred, and a suspicion of what had occurred flashed through her mind.

She did not speak to Ray. She felt confused, and half-pretended, even to herself, that she did not know he was present. Her brother went to her and put his arm round her waist and kissed her cheek, and then drew her over to the chimney-piece, where Ray stood, feeling somewhat like a thief.

"You forgot to say good-evening to Ray," said the brother.

"Good-evening," said she, in a low voice, holding out her hand.

Ray took the long slender hand, feeling still more dishonest and shamefaced and miserable.

When the fingers of the lovers touched, Layard caught the joined hands in both his, and pressed them softly and silently together; then, turning away, he stepped quickly to the window, and stood a long time looking at the dead wall opposite through misty eyes.

"I don't think we shall have that storm," said Ray at length.

Layard turned round. Hetty was pouring out the tea, and Ray was standing with his back to the chimney-piece.

"No," said Layard, "I fancy it is passing away. My arms feel easier."

Hetty was smiling, but looking pale.

"Do you take sugar and milk, Mr. Ray?" said she.

"Dear me, Hetty," said her brother, "what a lot you have to learn yet!"

She coloured violently, and shook her head at him.

"I wish you would sit down, Alfred. You are keeping all the light out of the room; I can't see what I'm doing."

"No," said he, looking meaningly from her to Ray; "but, bad as the light is, I can see what you have done."

At this Hetty and Ray laughed a suppressed laugh, and looked at one another with joyous glances.